


GOOSE 2

by SkyeDragonDraws



Series: GOOSE [2]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games), Untitled Goose Game (Video Game)
Genre: Crack, Gen, crackfic, well. this happened. congratulations.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:42:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25079335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeDragonDraws/pseuds/SkyeDragonDraws
Summary: It is a lovely day in the Soul Sanctum, and you are a horrible goose.
Series: GOOSE [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816309
Comments: 34
Kudos: 157





	GOOSE 2

**Author's Note:**

> i see your "just because you can, doesn't mean you should" and i raise you: "god put me on this earth and i'm here to make them regret every moment of that decision"
> 
> snail shaman uses a ey/em/eirs neopronouns!

It is a lovely morning in the City of Tears, and you are a horrible goose.

You are running again.

Your feet slap against the wet floor, throwing up spray behind you as you sprint. The pounding rain in the city would slow most others, but it slides easily off your wonderfully waterproof feathers.

Truly, you are a wonderful creation through which the cosmos delivers its karmic dues. 

Your sprint slows to a run, and then a reasonable waddle as you approach the menacing building. Bugs stop talking, or speak louder as they walk nearby, and they always quicken their paces when underneath the shadow of its awning. 

As a goose, you don’t know what fear means, but judging from what you can sense in these stones, you can assume that this is what most non-goose-beings would call “ _a really fucked up situation_.” 

You simply call it _interesting_. 

Like a streak of liquid shadow, you slip from hiding place to hiding place, sneaking ever closer to your prey. 

You are a silent hunter, a dangerous predator, a panther, slinking towards an unwary monkey in a tree.

Well, you’re more a panther walking on its hind legs with bricks tied to every paw, loudly clomping towards somebody who’s _really_ managed to piss off Karma… _but_ you’re not going to think too hard about that. 

You forge ahead, stalwart and brave. You have a mission, a sole, core purpose, and you will not be distracted. You are focused. You are determined. You will go straight to your destination, an unwavering line that cuts through stone and steel and the cosmic fabric of spacetime itself-

Oh hey, is that a _locked_ _door_ over there?

The thrill of getting somewhere you’re not supposed to be overrides your incredible focus in an instant.

You waddle towards the door, the picture of intimidation, and honk at the keyhole.

It does not open.

You glare at it. The keyhole trembles before your powerful, _wrathful_ gaze. 

You honk once more.

The door all but _springs_ open.

You step into the room and look around. 

Your eyes travel from the containers of swirling white particles to the tubes connected to them, down the tubes to the table in the center of the room, and then you make eye contact with the snail shaman strapped to the table.

Eir eyes narrow, and ey glares at you.

Honestly you can’t really blame em.

You waddle forward, and begin pulling the tubes out of eir arms.

It’s a slow process, and by the time you’re pecking at the cuffs, ey isn’t doing so hot.

When you’re done, you step back and jerk your head in a “come on!” gesture. 

It takes a minute, but eventually, the snail shaman slides off the table, looking at you suspiciously and rubbing at eir wrists. 

You ruffle up your feathers, deliberately breaking eye contact as you nibble at the irritating little wrinkle that _refuses_ to come out of your otherwise pristine wing. 

After a moment, you look up and catch eir eyes again. 

Ey’s still wary of you, but ey offers you eir hand anyway.

You accept the pats on your head with a magnanimous air, and allow the shaman a short rest before gently pecking em towards the door. 

Ey goes, stumbling slightly, but pauses at the doorframe. After a moment, ey turns around, using the wall for support as ey leans. 

“Ah, little friend, you’d best slip away as well. We both have our tricks, but these folk are terribly good at casting wide nets.”

You honk, once, and nudge em forward.

“A goose is not so easily caught, you say?” The shaman graces your head with another pat. “You know, friend, I can’t help but believe you.” 

You give em an encouraging honk.

Ey nods to you, reaching up to tip eir hat. “I see! You’ve got quite the incredible feat ahead of you - or rather _behind_ you, I suppose! I’d wish you luck, but clearly, you don’t want mine.” The shaman smiles wryly. “Have fun causing chaos, friend.”

You return the hat tip with a nod, and watch em leave with a slight spring in eir step. You allow yourself to wait for them to slip away in full - it’s rare you find another mischief maker like yourself, after all.

Once they’re gone, you turn around, planning to head back the way you came. 

The Sanctum beckons you. 

You make it wait a full five minutes before you get moving again. The party only starts when _you_ arrive, after all. 

*

It takes only a short waddle for things to start getting interesting. 

You’re admiring the esthetic of this place, tilting your head this way and that. You really can’t agree with anything going on here, but you do have to admit the bugs of the Soul Sanctum did _not_ have to go that hard with the interior decoration.

You would have pondered this further, but something oozes out of the floor and _latches on to you._

It’s goopy and disgusting and decidedly not solid and getting in _all your feathers._

For an ordinary creature, the task of getting out of this gloppy mess of a being would be insurmountable.

But, being a goose, you are naturally excellent at removing yourself from mud and other slimy substances. You beat at it with your wings, hissing and honking and making a terrible racket as you do.

(The racket is an ESSENTIAL part of the removal.)

You manage to extract yourself from it, giving it a few solid thwacks as you do, and making your displeasure known in the exact opposite of a calm and collected manner. 

The thing crumples to the floor with a wail, rapidly deflating until it’s nothing but a pile of shed skin.

Daintily, maintaining perfect composure, you step over the mess. 

Instead of further admiring the design and layout of this building, you make it your personal mission to cause as much destruction as possible while still waddling along at a good clip. 

The vindictive thrill that runs through you as you grab a tablecloth and send an entire table’s worth of Very Delicate And Breakable things crashing to the floor without slowing down makes all your efforts worth it. 

You continue like this for a while, meandering towards your destination while you wait for more opportunities for chaos to present themselves. Luckily for you, you don’t have to wait long before somebody takes notice of you.

“What- did one of the mistakes get out?” 

Before you know what’s happening, there’s a sound that vaguely reminds you of a cat coughing up a hairball, and suddenly you’re staring one of the most unpleasant bugs you’ve ever seen directly in the face.

You realize she’s picking you up, and decide to make a fuss about that. She manages to keep a decent hold on you, until you peck the gem in the center of her forehead.

“What are _you_?” She asks, holding you at arm’s length. Her gem is just out of reach of your neck, but that doesn’t stop you from pecking it anyway. “Hey! Stop that- _OW!_ ”

You continue pecking until she drops you. You land elegantly, balancing on your feet in the same manner a boulder balances on ballet slippers. 

You hear another sound, similar to the one when the person who picked you up first appeared, although this one is less cat with a hairball and more the wheeze of an ancient mummy in a bad horror movie. 

Another bug, nearly identical to the first except for a slightly larger gem appears before you. He waves his hand, and white barriers appear over all the doors in the hallway, before he turns to the other wizard. 

They discuss something (likely you, but it’s hard to be _sure,_ ) in hushed tones while you sit and glare at the sealed door. 

It decidedly does _not_ open. 

This is NOT IDEAL. You have a _job to do_ , and you certainly don’t work in customer service. In fact, you are a top-of-the-line-employee in customer _disservice,_ and you’re here to strut your stuff!

(You are also self-employed.)

Flaring your wings, you hiss loudly, garnering the attention of both wizards before you snap your head over to the nearest table, grab the cloth, and _yank it._

Both of them shout with varying amounts of horror as you run away, beating your wings for a bit of a speed boost.

The power of karma floods through your little body, allowing you to run far faster than you usually should. If geese could grin, you would be.

After a few moments, you come across a drop. It practically _drags_ you in, the intenseness of how terrible your quarry is.

You hop off, fluttering your wings as you descend with the grace of a cat that’s just fallen off the top of a piano onto the keys and is now scared of the noise it is making.

Your landing is just as elegant as your descent, albeit slightly louder, as you destroy a jar full of soul by touching down right on top of it. 

You give the jar another kick, for good measure before you step into the room. 

…

There’s _nothing_ here. The feeling says somebody should be _right here,_ you could have _sworn_ -

Hold on. What’s that in the distance? 

You squint at the shape rising out from behind one of the buildings. 

Before you can take a proper look, a flash of light blinds you. You flare your wings and hiss - an appropriate response to this _rudeness,_ but the bug before you seems undisturbed. 

He laughs at you, the sound managing to be both pathetic and _infuriating._

You honk back, but you are ignored. 

This simply _will not do._

You are vengeance! You are the night!

You. _Are_. **_GOOSE._ **

And you are _not_ being defeated by a washed-up two-cent yellow-bellied overinflated-balloon teleporting rotund shoulder-checking overdramatic _failure_ , whose ancestors should have stayed single-celled organisms, whose voice (which is used exclusively for grunts) somehow manages to encapsulate both the sound of somebody who behaves inappropriately towards people he perceives as women _and_ the sound of an enraged politician realizing he can no longer get away with denying his citizens basic rights, and whose general demeanor is that of a rotting mango with a smile that somehow manages to sag so heavily it constantly appears on the verge of sliding off his face! 

Also, defeat is a concept invented by non-goose beings.

(You don’t even know how to spell it.)

You draw your head high and slap your feet against the floor. 

This bug has _ruffled your feathers,_ and _by Goose,_ you are going to _do something about it._

Soul Master wails, shriveling before your radiance as you spread your wings and step forward. He scrabbles backward, his pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears as you open your beak and inhale.

**_HONK!_ ** You cry, and all the world hears it. 

**Author's Note:**

> i have never been sorry for anything.


End file.
